Back Petaling
by GraveDigger Resurrection
Summary: Another strained silence ensued, and Grissom didn't look at her, instead studying her floor with practiced concentration. Finally, he gave a little sigh."Purple is your favorite color."


**Title: **Back Petaling  
**Rating: **Uh...uhm...Q? It would be PG-13 in a sane world, but here, who knows?  
**Categories: **Romance/Angst  
**Pairing: **Sofia/Grissom... pffft, yeah freaking right.  
**Disclaimer: **The only things I own are the words on this page and the lint in my pocket. Unless you want my lint, don't bother.  
**A/N:** I don't think there's anyone _not_ to thank for helping me with this. All of Locard's Ladies just rock my world. Sheila, Mel, Lauren, Leslie, and Kara, you guys are my heroes, and you saved this fic from the trash can. I'm not entirely sure that's a _good_ thing, but time will tell, eh?

Special thanks go out to Lauren for beta-ing, helping with a title, and being the coolest person in the world, and to Leslie, for helping with the summary, and being...well...Leslie. :)

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The water had just come to a boil when the doorbell rang. Startled, Sara jumped, the fistful of raw pasta she had in her hand dropping to the floor in a rainstorm of pale yellow noodles, and let out a curse as she watched the brittle strands of linguini skitter around frantically on her white linoleum. Who the hell would be at her door at 8 o'clock at night? The bell sounded again, and she cursed once more for good measure before tossing the remaining pasta into the bubbling water and heading towards the door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel as she went.

"Yeah, coming!" She didn't bother keeping the irritation out of her tone. She'd actually begun to enjoy her nights off, and now here was someone trying to disrupt her quiet evening. Damn it all, why did this always seem to happen?

A quick glance through the peephole showed nothing but a shadowy male figure, but Sara knew it was most likely just another one of Ms. Johnson's late night callers. It would be the third damn night this week that one of them had gotten the wrong apartment. Growing more irritated by the second, she yanked out the chain-lock and turned the knob. She'd give the guy a killer glare, and the right apartment number, and send him on his way so she could enjoy the rest of her evening in peace.

It was karmic or something, that was it, she decided as she pulled open the door. A conspiracy against her and every attempt she made to do something enjoyable. The fates were hell-bent on preventing her from having a life, in some pre-ordained cosmic– "_Grissom?_" Hopefully not one of Ms. Johnson's callers, but oh yeah, definitely a conspiracy.

There was a long moment of stunned silence as they stared at one another, with her taking in his bewildered gaze and slightly weary figure, dressed in black slacks and a black button-down shirt, and him...just staring. "Uh, h-hello Sara." His mouth gave a funny, nervous twist that might have been a smile, but didn't quite make it to the 'happy' reading of the facial-expression meter. That weird little quirk of his lips and a tilt of the head, and damn it all to hell with a road cone if her stomach didn't jump up and do a freaking blackflip. It was her night off! Surely it had to be against the law to do this to her on a night off?

"What are you doing here?" The question squeezed out of her mouth unbidden, along with a good deal of exasperation. He blinked at her with his blue eyes, before ducking his head a little, like a dog tucking its tail between its legs. Could she have him arrested for messing with her head like that? Damn it.

"I, Uh..th-that, um...can I come in?" Head still down, his gaze skittered to hers before darting away again, and for some reason, it made her smile. She wanted to be irritated with him for coming here, but there was no denying the fact that, as always, she was glad to see him.

"Well, I don't know. I mean, last time you were here, I was about to be fired..." His head reared up quickly, before catching her smirk, and relaxing a bit.

"It's nothing like that. I..." She could almost see his words get caught somewhere between his brain and his mouth, probably smashing against his big stupid forehead and disintegrating into a thousand worthless pieces. And why in the world did that endear him to her? It just wasn't fair. Happy to see him, yes. But that didn't mean he wasn't still a bastard...even if he _had_ been working on it lately.

"Come on in," she told him on a sigh. He shuffled past her with his head still down, and she found her mind wandering over all the possible reasons for his arrival, all of them either very pessimistic, or wholly ludicrous. With determination, Sara forced the worries from her mind. It was just Grissom, and he was in _her_ apartment. Her turf. She refused to feel cornered or nervous around him now, trying to steel herself with the knowledge that she could kick him out the instant she felt like it.

_What is he **doing **__here?_

It was just Grissom. She didn't really care why he was here, she'd just take things as they came. Really, she didn't care. Really...

Taking a deep breath, she shut the door and turned to face him. He nodded at her slightly and shifted, hands behind his back in an unfamiliar stance, and a small, tight smile hinting around the corners of him mouth. Was he nervous? She considered him for a moment, before reciting her mantra._ Just Grissom_. She didn't really care about that either. Really, it wasn't her problem if he was nervous. He was the one who'd come here after all.

_Why? _She shut down the mental interrogation. Damn it, she didn't care! It was just...just...oh hell.

The best thing to do was fake it then. If he _thought_ she didn't care, maybe she wouldn't. Eventually. When she was dead. "Can I get you something to drink?" She asked over her shoulder with forced ease as she made her way towards the kitchen. The whole acting thing was working surprisingly well, and she felt some of her nerves settle a bit. Pretending worked wonders on reality sometimes.

"Uh, a beer?" Taken by surprise, she almost turned to look at him in question, but stopped herself. A beer, then. On most other days, she might have worried that he was testing her, or it was some oblique message or, or, or whatever. But tonight? Eh, she wasn't worried about that either. Right.

It was her night off, damn it, and she wasn't going to let a little thing like having the object of her unrequited love standing in her living room throw off her good vibes for the night. _It was just Grissom! _Fates be damned. "Sure, a beer it is." A tug of the fridge door, and she leaned in to pull out a bottle, listening to him make his way into the kitchen.

"Were you eating dinner? I hadn't meant to interrupt." His question reminded her of the three cheese sauce simmering on the stove, and most likely about to burn, and the noodles she was supposed to be tending to. The scent of tomatoes and mushrooms was getting more prominent, and as she retrieved two beers and closed the fridge, she turned just in time for the sauce pan to begin giving off smoke. Feeling it was some sort of sign, Sara hissed another oath, set the bottles down on the counter, and yanked the pan off the burner before turning the heat down.

"No, not eating yet. Just cooking some pasta. More like burning it, I guess," She muttered, staring at the bubbling sauce in distaste. "You would think helping out at a B & B all those years..." She trailed off with a sigh.

"It still looks edible to me." His soft voice drifted from right over her shoulder, and she instinctually made to turn her head, but then realized she'd brush her nose against his cheek if she did so. _Well. _They hadn't played this game in a while.

Just Grissom, just Grissom, _just Grissom..._ The heat of his presence against her back sent a shiver up her spine.

"It'll work," came her muttered reply, putting the pan back on the burner, and shifting to push the noodles all the way down into the pot. As she did so, Sara considered asking him to stay for dinner, then realized he'd probably say no. But then again, he _was_ the one who'd come to her apartment, and he wasn't leaving yet. Eventually, she just decided not to say anything at all.

Without a word, she slid out from between him and the stove with a careless grace that rather impressed her, and walked over to the beers, popping off both caps against the counter with practiced eased, and taking a swig from her own bottle as she passed him the other. Smooth, and without a single indication of her nerves. He wasn't allowed to know he made her nervous in her own damn space.

Grissom took the beer silently, still keeping one hand behind his back, in a falsely nonchalant gesture that piqued her interest and her irritation. Gil Grissom was in her apartment, at 8 o'clock at night, drinking a beer. So, she was either having a pleasantly insane hallucination, or he had a reason for being here. She supposed trying to surreptitiously pinch herself was out of the question under his irritating silent scrutiny, and pondered for a moment what should come next. This silence and intense gaze was both itchy and tense, and needed to stop right now. Without another idea, she opted for the direct approach. "So, uh, why did you say you were here again?"

Watching him shift from foot to foot in returned nervousness was amusing at one point in time, but it had gotten rather old recently. Recently as in, oh, you know, three years ago. If only little things like that could make her hate him. "I didn't."

"But I'm assuming there is a reason?" Delusions of him showing up at her apartment for the simple purpose of seeing her had faded a long time ago. There was nothing but a dull, hollow ache there now.

Grissom cleared his throat in return. "I, uh, uh yeah, there is." Fighting down the sudden irresistible urge to either strangle him, jump him, or just do both, Sara only nodded slightly, waiting, and watching as Grissom -and there was no other word for it- squirmed. "I, well, I, um," He took a large swallow of beer before leaning around her to set the bottle on the counter. "I'm, uh...I-I.." He pinched the bridge of his nose, clamped his eyes shut, and took a deep breath. "I bought you flowers." As the jumble of words were blurted out in a nervous rush of air, he brought his left arm out from behind his back, and thrust a small bouquet of violets and Queen Anne's Lace at her.

It was probably not the best thing to do in response. In fact, it was arguably the very worst possible reaction she could have possibly picked. But these things never really seemed to turn out right for her anyway, and so, as she stared at the lovely bouquet, Sara began to laugh. She looked at Grissom, watching as a flush crept up his neck and turned his ears a faint red, and his face showed a vague hurt that he obviously tried to mask. She laughed harder.

This was crazy. This was the most insane thing that could possibly happen, that had _ever_ happened. She was sure of it. Almost 6 years of this dance, and a full-fledged retreat from him, and now...flowers? She doubled over, trying to smother her giggles.

It was about twenty seconds before she could even try to get herself under control, which was more than long enough for Grissom to drop his outstretched gift to his side with slumped shoulders, and shift away, obviously ready to flee. She'd be damned if she let him. "No, Grissom, don't!" She choked on another hiccupping squeak of laughter, before grabbing his arm and sliding her hand down to his, pulling the bouquet up to her face and burying her nose in it. Heady and lovely, but his face was still the picture of tattered dignity. She sighed softly in place of a giggle.

"They're beautiful, really, thank you, it's just, just..." She inhaled the delicate scent of the flowers, wondering how to explain to him just how absurd it was that after all this time, all this fighting and worrying...he would show up at her apartment out of the blue and give her flowers. It was just...unheard of, and out of character, and, and...she stifled a chuckle in the fragrant petals.

"I...you..._why_?" It was the best thing she could think to say.

Another strained silence ensued, and Grissom didn't look at her, instead studying her floor with practiced concentration. Finally, he gave a little sigh."Purple is your favorite color."

And suddenly, the laughter died in her throat, and every little humorous thing about the situation disappeared. She stared at him, her body going numb as the smell of the fresh flowers swirled inside her nose, sweet and dizzying. This wasn't some subtle look or some oblique double entendre. He was here in her apartment, on _her_ side of the court. She was holding something in her hands this time, real and delicate and daring. From him. There was no emergency, no fight to end, and no _anything_ from her. There was only him standing in front of her nervously. Grissom...and flowers.

Floating on the insane sweetness of the moment, and trying desperately not to let the growing bubble of hope consume her, she took another deep breathe, the soft petals ticklish against her cheeks. This couldn't mean nothing, she knew that much. But it didn't mean that it meant _everything_, either. The plant never led to anything, and neither did the day at the ice rink. The dinner invitation and the suspension and, and...

And here he was, in her apartment, giving her flowers because her favorite color was purple.

"Oh." It slipped past her lips as a dazed response, and at her choked tone, he looked up. She turned her head away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes, and wondered what in the hell to do. She was so very touched, by this moment, elated, and surprised and so, so frightened that she would fall even further for this man and nothing would be done.

There was a long moment of silence, him not speaking and her afraid to do or say anything at all. "Sara?" She jumped. When had he moved right beside her? She hadn't heard anything at all. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you o-or...I was out of line. I-I shouldn't–" His hesitant voice came out haltingly, and a hand brushed against her should briefly, to disappeared just as quickly.

She knew she had to say something, _anything,_ or risk losing this uncertain moment forever. "No! I..." She lifted her gaze to his, fumbling around for what to say, how to describe– "I love them." A grin snuck onto her face, weak and a little watery, but he gave a small, relieved one in return. "I just...you surprised me." She sighed and looked down at the bouquet again. "I love them. Really. Thank you."

He nodded, scuffing his shoe in an uncharacteristically fidgety movement. "Your, uh...welcome." Seemingly pleased he'd managed to get that out without mangling it too badly, his smile brightened up a bit.

Drunk on this feeling of reckless, foolish hope, she blurted out her next question completely uncensored. "So what's the occasion?" Immediately she bit her tongue to the point of blood. Damn it, she was _always_ over-talking around him! Just never able to leave good enough alone...

The look on his face matched her feeling. A nervous glance around the room and the re-hunch of his shoulders told her he'd been praying she wouldn't ask that. Praying that she wouldn't ask _anything,_ most likely. Her stomach tightened, and she turned away, grabbing a vase from a cupboard and filling it with water, carefully setting the flowers inside. "Never mind, I'm sorry. That was a stupid ques-"

"I just came off a double." His statement effectively silenced and thoroughly confused her. Apparently he saw it in her expression when she turned back to look at him, because after another shift of his shoulders and neck, he elaborated. "I...I was working that robbery/murder with Sofia...Uhm, Sanford Flowers?"

"Oh!" As blase as that might have seemed to some, to Sara, it was the universe, gift-wrapped in white silk. It meant that not only had he thought of her over work (why hadn't the world come to an end yet?), but he had also thought of her in Sofia's presence. After word of the dinner invitation reached Sara, she had been so sure that...but this one gesture erased that fear in an instant, and she felt the warm, bright bubble inside her swell just a little more.

Which was why she was so surprised when he continued. "At the start of our second round, Sofia had to leave. She uh, got a call about a family emergency or something." A vague wave of his hand accompanied the statement. Sara fought off a jaw-cracking grin. "So, uh, anyway..." He was looking at her floor again. "It was rather, uh...odd. To work a double by myself, I mean. Swing shift was full, and I certainly wasn't going to call in any of Ecklie's guys. I-it was unusual...for me not to be able to call you out of the lab to come help me. I...wasn't used to you not being there."

This was an imposter. It _had_ to be, Sara decided, as she blinked back tears again. Gil Grissom did not posses one charming bone in his body, or at least he didn't use any of the charm on her. Not anymore. She looked at him, toeing a scuff on the white flooring nervously, and suddenly realized he _wasn't_ being charming. It was a hundred percent sincere. She forced back another round of tears.

Damn this man! He wasn't allowed to do this to her! Not anymore! Not _ever!_ She wouldn't let him inside her heart again. Taking a small, quivery breath, she straightened up. "I'm sorry I wasn't there, Griss, but I'm involved in this new thing." He looked up at her curiously, and she forced an easy tone. "It's called trying to have a life. I'm not very good at it, but I'm working on it." A smile struggled onto her face to force out any bite from her words, and he nodded twice in hurried agreement.

"Yes, y-yes, I want that for you. I do. That's...that's not what I meant. I, um..." He went back to staring a hole in the linoleum. "I missed you." Bright blue eyes stole back up to hers, seeming almost guilty.

For the umpteenth time that night, Sara found herself gaping at Grissom, positively speechless. She stared into his hesitant face for what seemed like forever, until her vision became too blurred by the tears that had hovered since he'd come, and she had to look away. Of course he saw it. There was no way he couldn't. "Sara...I–"

"Stop." The word fled from her throat harshly, choked and forced. A hot tear spilled over her cheek and she turned away quickly, her hands braced on the counter. She could hear his footsteps over the floor, and it was all too much. This couldn't be happening. It _couldn't_.

"Sara?" His voice held genuine concern. She wished it didn't. "What? Stop what? I don't understa-"

Just like that, fury flooded her. "Stop it _all, _Grissom!" She hissed, whirling back around, and dashing the tears off her face with an angry swipe of her palm. "Stop with the games and the looks and the retreats and the brush-offs, and then _this_, whatever the hell this new thing is. I don't want flowers, I don't want you to care, and I _don't want you in my apartment! _So just stop!"

It was his turn to stare at her. "They...they're just flowers..."

She stifled a slightly hysterical laugh, wondering why this moment was her breaking point. There had been so many moments before now, all of them more appropriate. Who knew that Gil Grissom being nice would make her snap? "Just flowers? _Just flowers?_ Nothing with you is 'just _anything,_' Grissom! You're always stringing me along, making these comments that are worded in just the right way that they don't have to mean _anything_ tomorrow, if you don't want them to! These aren't _just flowers, _Grissom, they're another _stupid _reminder of the fact that no matter how hard I try to ignore it, _you're_ still in charge of this game, Grissom, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it!" She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to get some of her control back. "So no, Grissom, these _aren't_ just flowers, and they never could be."

_I won't fall for you again tonight, Gil Grissom. I **won't.** _

Her eyes slipped shut, and there was a span of silence, only her slightly ragged breathing and his gentle sighs disturbing the scene. She wasn't going to open her eyes again until he was gone. No, she was going to keep them closed, and wish with all her might that he would just disappear and take the flowers with him, and...

"So...they aren't just flowers." His soft voice was a question and a confirmation all in one. She squeezed her lids more tightly together. Again, he sighed. "All right."

Now what the _hell_ did _that_ mean? Reluctantly, Sara opened her eyes, wanting to glare at him, but just not having the energy. Apparently seeing that she wasn't going to unleash another tirade, Grissom stepped forward. "They're whatever you want them to be."

"Oh, fuck you!" Another damn trick of his, throwing the ball back on her court, _forcing_ her to make the next move. She wasn't doing it. Not this time. Sara Sidle was officially calling a stalemate.

Her coarse words seemed to throw him for a loop, because he stopped dead, blinking warily at her. That familiar oppressive quiet began to drift down over them again, when something in his expression changed. The line of his jaw settled a little further forward, and one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. It was the face she often saw him wearing when he figured out a case. He took another step forward.

"They _are_ whatever you want them to be, Sara. They are." Another two steps. "But I...I'll tell you what _I _want them to be." Another step and he was right in front of her, so close she had to tilt her chin up just a little to look him in the eyes. He looked back down at her, not speaking.

Talking to him was always going to be like pulling teeth. She just knew it. "_Well?_"He cocked his head to the side, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Anger stirred inside her again. "Grissom, _what_ do–" And of course, she never got any further than that.

It was possibly the most cliche event that had ever happened in Sara's life, standing in her kitchen, being kissed by Grissom. But, as his hands stole tentatively around her waist, she had to admit that she definitely wasn't complaining.

Time flew by and didn't move at all, as their lips brushed against one another's, her hands threading up through his curls and both of them shifting endlessly closer as the kiss deepened. Eventually, years later maybe, or only seconds, she pulled away, and his palm brushed against her cheek, pushing a stray tendril of hair off of her face. A nervous, watery little laugh escaped her throat, and he answered her with a lopsided smile of his own. Their breathe mingled and tried to even out. "Does...is that answer enough?"

She considered it for a moment, her mouth twisting into a wry grin. "I think maybe you ought to make it a little bit clearer for me..."

And he did.

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So there you have it, the whole mangled thing. Feedback is welcome and wanted. Thanks for Reading! 


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